Category Archives: Events

For several years now, the zone 7 back to school party has been a staple of my calendar.

I can only speak for myself of course and the voices in my head. The distinguished ladies and gentlemen at the back of my cranium have agreed that the on Friday, Back to School shall be attended without fear or favor.

Keep an eye out for the dude dressed as a dude dressed as a pipette from the Chem. Lab.

Glorious visions of sweaty rub-a-dubs with the cross eyed school nurse (Ha Ha! finally she allowed my advances!!) are already making me drool, so before I lose it completely, let me first present the top ten things that I am looking forward to seeing at the 2013 Zone 7 Back to school Parrey.

Presented in no particular order and with no regard whatsoever to common-sense … and eh… man… just read.

1. A thief. We need to catch a thief. And beat him so badly he will go and tell other thieves that certain working class twenty-somethings still haven’t lost their touch.

2. Food-fight. At some point during the mbocha and lining up and generally around that time we need lights to go out and for the backup generator to black out for a few minutes. Mayhem will reign as it always does and when the power comes back on, a lot of people will have released their stress and maybe (if Jesus loves us) a couple of girls wearing nothing but maize porridge, will be making out next to the bushes.

3. A brightly painted lawn gnome packed to the eyeballs with Ecstasy and somewhere during the course of the party, a baseball bat.

Naawe, I am shy!

4. Kiboks, hot ones. Someone should cane the Senior Teacher. And make him pick rubbish even. If there is no Senior Teacher first order of business should be to choose one.

5. An exam, at least a test or quiz, on the St Lawrence Seaway. Not even simanyi Saskatchewan simanyi Prairies what… Just the Seaway. Anyone who gets above twenty percent gets free hardcorn.

6. The Saida Kaloli remix… Has… to Be Played… At least… Twice.

7. A kakarabanda complete with bones and high heeled shoes (meanwhile what was up with that) in a drug induced stupor, partying like its 2013. Then leaving with the Mama of the YCS fellowship for destinations and tongues unknown.

8. A stall run by the Association of Disgruntled High School Photographers. Auctioning to the highest bidder, all the sosh/prom snaps you refused to buy because you were too cheap (and un-photogenic). I f I am not mistaken, there is a killing to be made here. Literally.

9. Jabba. A lot of Jabba.

10. Mandatory morning prep and muchaka muchaka for those who are still around at five am, especially if they look clueless and overweight.

Look, on paper it seems harmless. It’s the stock exchange, what could possibly go wrong? I’ll tell you what; it could crash. Any one with a semblance of sense should be able to figure that out. Which might be why the crowds came pouring in, one by one, lambs to the proverbial slaughter, each and everyone of us.

The beginning of the end

To the uninitiated, the Stock Exchange Party {the first one in Uganda held this Friday past} essentially operates in much the same way you’d expect Stocks to work, prices go up, then come down, then stabilize. Not necessarily in that order.

Get down… like the prices, get down I said!

In this case, all eyes were on the price of liquor, which was a real shame given the numbers of skirts that had been traded in for handkerchiefs and cloth based belts.

There’s a certain irony to be observed when people are in a bar, sans inebriation, screaming out, BUY, BUY, BUY….I don’t know how it works, but the next time a company floats its shares, it would benefit greatly from introducing the masses to a little bit of liquor.

Girls just wanna have fun, guys just wanna have booze

Hardly surprising was the fact that people seized the moment and hoarded. My guilt slapped me in the face a couple of times and asked me to look in front of me. Sure enough, some forward looking chap had decided to keep a crate for later.

Careful, he might take, he might take gwe nne munno

As I continued to take this in, I was accosted by a mate who insisted on buying me a crate…the rest of the night came in drips and drabs. Tequila shots at 1k, Beer at 1k. The Mith, Navio, JB… those ones had no price tag attached, I think…. It’s a little foggy, but a picture doth speak a thousand words, right?

So you are one of those sexy, sexy people who spent the weekend watching goats sweat it out for the accolade of sturdiest, fastest goat in the world. For you, dear reader, who wasn’t part of all the goat race fun, no worries, I goat this Meh.n. Ok I don’t got this. I didn’t go either. But here are a few things to ponder from the goat race.

How do you get your goat that’s going to compete to the venue?

Do you strap it in the passenger seat next to you and drive to the race?

OR Do you throw it in the backseat? (The same backseat your first born was conceived?)

OR Do you throw it in the boot? (Won’t this dampen its spirit and get in the way of it putting up a resounding performance? Goats have self-esteem too you know. I think)

If you strap it into the passenger seat next to you, what are good topics of conversation? Scratch that, more importantly, how do you stop it from shitting all-over the place?

Do the goats stretch before a race? Like little back and forth warm-up stuffs. Like the goat-equivalent of press-ups

Does it help if your goat is from Kenya? Or Kapchorwa? Do goats from the hills perform better?

Since goats are vegetarian and all, are there any rules against feeding your goat marijuana before a race?

I no eat reefer. Swear

Are there drug tests? Like do they prick the goats to find out which of them is a prick?

As the goat approaches the finish line, does it stick out its head to ensure victory?

Is there a current world record holder for goats 100m? (Or whatever distance they hoof).

How does the winning goat celebrate?

More so, the goat that comes in last (or the one that wanders off the track and sniffs at people’s privates), is it served at dinner? Or is it sent to Abdu Jabal for whole goat?

Yesterday we had a full report on the Battle Of The Champions, i.e. the concert where Bobi Wine and Bebe Cool competed to find out who was the best musician ever.
My colleague Erique did not attend the show but, being the super-journalist that he is, he was nevertheless able to fabricate a detailed report of exactly what went on.
Here are some of the highlights of the show.

1: The freestyle battle. Just like in 8 Mile, Wine and “Cool” went rhyme for rhyme with off-the-top raps. It wasn’t clear who won, both were able to lose themselves in the music.

He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready

2: When Wine’s Escalade and BC’s Hummer transformed into giant robots and began to box as in Real Steel. This was also inconclusive and the match ended in a split decision.

3: The dance-off: While fans of the Step Up series enjoyed the first round very much, the difficulty came with the second round when the two decided to perform ballet. It caused the judges and fans to fall asleep so no one could decide who won.

4: The Debate: With “Cool” proposing and Wine opposing the motion that Africa Was Better Off Without Colonialism it looked like he would take the lead, but the second round when Wine proposed the motion, and “Cool” opposed the motion that Marijuana and Prostitution Should Be Legalised and Taxed lead to a tie, when both debaters ended up proposing the motion.

Thank you Mr Chairman, main speakers and the house at large...

5: Ultimately, though, it was agreed that the real winner was Flavia, who hosted the shit out of that Big Brother Star Game show on Sunday. My colleague Ivan will be here with a full, detailed, comprehensive report on the Big Brother show soon. He didn’t attend it either.

I guess you’ve all heard by now that the Bobi-Bebe show was perpetrated by the government to curb inflation by taking 15,000 shillings from as many people without proper homes as they could?

The instructions to the two feuding artistes were simple. Go and perform but make it look like you’re talented. Bebe was Cool about it but Bobi Whined about it being such an unfairly hard task yada yada blah blah. So the instructions were changed.

They were told to go and do what they were good at and that’s how they decided to go and fight. People were asked to pay money for a golden chance to stroke the egos of two award-winning worldwide platinum-selling artistes who were just too meek to accept the recognition.

They gave it the fancy title “Battle of Champions”. We made several calls here at ULK headquarters but no one was able to tell us what the word “champions” was doing in the title. We reported to police and they said they’d look into the matter.

When the show started, we realized the two had interpreted the battle differently. Bebe thought it was about minding your own business and the other one also stays the other side and minds his own business and the crowd decides who ignores the other better.

He was sent a comprehensive menu of insults from the other side but he refused to make an order. He just kept performing song after song until the police decided he was being very cruel to ignore his friend’s creative insults.

Bobi, however, thought the show was about abusing each other and using songs as interludes.

He tried Bebe’s style of doing song after song but they ran out before his crowd could even complete their first beer. He kept looking around the stage like he was trying to decide whether he had forgotten the songs on top of the fridge or in his jacket pocket at home.

He said something about Bebe’s family and Bebe sang to the crowd in vengeance. Then he said something else about Bebe’s health and Bebe intensified his singing rage. Then he added something he had forgotten about Bebe’s fakeness and Bebe invited Bobi’s ex-friend, Buchaman to share the stage and shield him from the insults.

Bobi’s brother Eddie Yawe also came in to preach peace and love and all the boring things no one had come to listen to. Then Pastor Wilson Bugembe also…what the hell was this dude doing here? It was past his bedtime.

Bebe started raising funds for a certain charity and in local artiste speak, that was like cracking several Yo Mama jokes. Not funny. We came to fight, you person who has sex with mothers, not fund raise! That won Bebe another round of insults on the house.

At some point, Bebe challenged Bobi to a live band performance but Bobi preferred to stick to using condoms.

Bobi’s fury was so dangerously high that he started assuring the crowd that him and Bebe were actually good friends, a subtle attempt at striking Bebe’s Achilles’ heel.

Bobi was the lion going after what the crowd had paid for and expected while Bebe was the chicken appealing to their hearts.

Bebe:Like me please. I don’t even fight or kick. I’m a good man, you see. I give back to the people and I stand for peace. Nelson Mandela.

Bobi:Don’t listen to that fool. You wanted a battle? Cool. You get what you paid for nigga, I rule. Big is me, king of the moon. Napoleon.

Police stopped the show at about 3am and the chicken ran off stage after winning most of the crowd’s favour. According to him, that made him champion.

The lion, however, stayed on probably coz the wife had brought the jacket that had the rest of his songs. Boob on no boob, Bobi was determined to go on with the show because “that’s what the crowd paid for”. And that, according to Bobi, is what made him champion.

The show just turned out to be a charity drive meant to raise funds for Africans with a singing disability.

And now the story as told through the eyes of Samson Baranga’s camera.

Sleek here. Are you done stuffing yourself with pork ribs and white ants for lunch? Are you done singing cheesy love songs to your boss in the hope that he’ll give you a promotion? Well yesterday, thanks to MTN, two lucky fans, Samantha and Leonard, got a chance to kick-it with two legends. They won competitions we run on our Facebook page. (Like it) Together, we went to Cineplex Cinema and watched ‘This Means War’. According to them, here’s how it went down:

(They may not mention the fact that due to the traffic, the two Legends were catapulted to the venue)

Leonard is a doctor. And it was his birthday. He’s the one who kept getting calls throughout the movie and kept whispering “I kill you!!” into the phone.

Leonard innadi house

The comps for the movie came in handy as you already know and for this, I am thoroughly grateful. I am still trying to digest the relaxed aura that engulfed the whole evening but I will interest myself in the party of four we made: Sleek, about 5 foot 8, approx 75kg muscled guy, calm, cool. Ivan, the long one, about 6 feet high, 65kg, also a calm guy, but with a struggling goatee. Sam, the only chic in the crew, about 5 foot 8, with the weight of goodness, pleasantness of a lady, without an attitude. She had Ivan yapping incessantly throughout the movie like he was on the MTN postpaid tariff! Finally, me. Well, I will leave my description up to any of the crew members in this party for I fail to find the right words to describe a being so… Anyways, the movie was a good laugh; half breed between a chic flick and a Jason Statham movie so the girls and guys got to enjoy the movie in turns with the occasional unanimous laugh. The snacks- Popcorn. The drinks- I did the Dew. Rating- I would hazard 3/5 for the movie, 5/5 for the fantastic company, 5/5 for effort (ULK,MTN), 5/5 for the crowd (who followed the cues for appropriate responses well!). The ULK dudes are a down-to-earth bunch, witty and went out of their way to make us feel comfortable around them. Are they worth all the hype we read about? erm, HELL YEAH! Rock on ULK and thanks for not writing things fwaaa!

The Man, The Dentist, The Legend... not in that order

Leonard left out the part where he went screaming and hugged the canvas when the pretty star was about to be killed….

Samantha is a dentist. She had a small doll she’d stroke whenever Ivan would snort.

Samantha ondi mic

(sigh, dreamy look) The movie, she was very very nice. A chick flick you won’t find at Zai plaza. Now don’t judge the hosts too harshly over the choice-there were also guns going off in the movie albeit pink ones with pastel bullets. And the ULK people, they were nice too but not too nice (You see, legends don’t do things fwaa, them they do things ninja style). In fact the best part of the evening was the running commentary by my neighbour, Ivan. These legends are r.e.a.l.e clever in 3D. Good people. The contest was not a joke (winning ith not tho thimple) and these Urban Legends are for real (oxymoron! #winning). Leonard and I had the best time, until at the end of the movie when the lugaflow congratulations was played (our money!)
I’m done here. Now pay me you people, I’ve said everything you told me to.
@ Ivan nga my hard corn disappeared in tricks?

Samantha attempts to grab Leonard's hand as he forces the popcorn to get digested

Dear readers, my name is Ivan.

I did not have any relationship with anyone’s hard corn. The only corn I partook of was the one coming from the canvas in front of me. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to do a review of the movie, but it can’t hurt, right? It’s a chick flick. There are no two ways about it. It spends about 85% pandering to the whims of those of the female persuasion and then 15% to the guys that happened to walk into the cinema with them. Put delicately, it’s like a Thai Transvestite. Every so often you figure it’s all woman then without warning you see the manly bits.

My neighbor was a budding translator so that more than anything made up for the experience. I didn’t even mind that she was in pure awe of my 32 pack {nanti she is a tooth person}. Every so often we conspired to spill beer on the people in front of us, but that posed logistical concerns such as, where would we get another beer to replace this one? Who are these people in front of us? Would MTN maliciously change our callertunes….

Elsewhere, Leonard kept dabbing at his eyes at what were the right moments in the flick, claiming that watching all those bullets fly made his eyes sweat. Sleek for his part maintained a very calm demeanor probably trying to create the impression that this shit was not new to him. He watches spies tussle it out for white chicks that dance to Montell Jordan songs on a day to day basis.

If you choose to ignore {as I have} allegations of hard corn going walkabouts and the hint Samantha dropped when she passed mint flavored gum around, it was like something out of a movie.

Last Friday, I run into a friend of mine shedding tears outside National Theatre. I can tell that a lump has already formed in your throat; you are yelling at the monitor “Give her a hanky mehn, give her!”

Well it was a guy. You may know him as the bespectacled guy in Inspire Africa on your TV screen. You may also know him from reading his blog. So there he was, crying. From a safe distance, I asked “Eh you man, wasap?”. He told me they were tears of joy; the lantern meet of poets had killed it yet again.

Since you quit watching TV when you discovered copies of ‘That’s life Mwattu-3D’, I’ll educate you. The lantern meet is a group of young poets who meet every so often to discuss, ahh correct guess, poetry. No Abid, wrong guess, poetry not new age techniques to use to get in touch with aliens. So in all these deep discussions, the poets bring forth one show a year. So you missed. Where were you? (ED:Rhetoric)

They had a show on Friday and one of Saturday. Everyone I met on Friday was gushing “oh em ghee”, skipping and hugging everything. So FOMO drove me there. The reviews increased my expectations.

It is the East, and Jimmy Jones 75 is the sun... Photo by: Legendary Edgar Batte

So come Saturday, I was seated so close to the stage that if I moved my head even slightly, I’d be staring up a lesu. And real men don’t do that. The show started by some guy in shades going on stage and ordering us to seat back, relax and enjoy the show. That’s the last we saw of him. He probably left and went to continue research on how mice react to poetry. His name was Leonard.

Then three narrators, who were keep coming in throughout the show, got on and started painting pictures with words. There was Solomon, a very theatrical character who I’m sure would have preferred to swing onto stage with lights flashing and fireworks going off, Wobusobozi Amooti, the sage and Yvonne, the one with a beautiful, commanding voice. Every time the three said some amazing stuff I’d reach for my quill and look up to find that they’d moved on to say more amazing things and I’d forgotten what they’d said earlier…they need to learn to stutter these people.

The poems were on everything under the sun; Love. ‘Shall I compare thee to a warm rolex…’. Father’s advice to a son. How women became the men they want to marry. Armageddon. Get off your ass and do your part as a citizen. Us who drink lots of milk are well-fed and have heavy tongues, we say harrrroooo not hullo like a poor, unhealthy man. Is it worth it hustling to get you? Domestic violence. Nodding disease. Why so much sad news? I want to hear about me, my culture, my history. A clown leads us, why do we sit by? .Everything.

As if the engaging themes weren’t enough, the costumes were quite a sight. Sailor Gilbert.Gangster Gloria. Terrorist Daniel. Suspenders here. A cigar there.

And then they took it a notch higher; students from Nabisunsa girls took over. S2s, S4s and a few S6s presented. Naturally, there were some pretty raw ones; ‘my life, so sweet’. And there were those uncomfy ones; ‘But what do men really want?’ And there were those that made you cough to stifle a manly tear. Domestic violence. Love lost.

Colin, next time don’t answer calls while us we are trying to write reviews.

I didn’t like the fact that the next poet would come on almost as the one presenting was leaving stage; there was no time to complete your loud, irritating laugh or to wipe your tears. It made sense later when I realized the show took over 2 hours; any gaps and it’d have taken way longer.

The show was amazing. And the fact that very young talent was showcased reveals that this thing will keep going on. Right from their first show in a very small, not-so-well lit room to this one, the poets have been raising the bar…and they took it a whole lot higher this time.

One of the most common Ugandan habits is this thing called tying on celebs. Once a person becomes famous, everybody crawls out of the woodwork such as Mutundwe and Kyebando, claiming that they know all about such and such a singer, actor, rapper or internet website writer. To quote Streetsider, “What Baz is saying is true.”

However, what you are going to read is not tying. It goes beyond. Let me assure you that Klear Kut and I go waaaay back. I saw them loong ago and I can prove it through a series of paragraphs. As follows.

I was a young MUK Educ student on teaching practice, struggling to manage a classroom of rowdy international school students. I had only been informed that morning that, contrary to my expectations, the ban on caning was actually seriously enforced in international schools, not like Fozzie Bears Senior Secondary School, which had been my first choice.

So the class was busy wiping the floor with me. Whenever I would ask a question they would answer it, making me feel like an idiot.

For example, I would ask, “What factors lead to the migration of Bunyoro Kitara Kingdom in the interlaucustrine region?”

Somebody would put up their hands and answer. Msssw.

I would ask, “What is the square root of 4563?”

And someone would put up their hand and answer. I would not even know if their answer was correct because, I mean, it’s the freaking square root of 4563. Who knows that shit?

Then I would ask “What is photosynthesis?”

And again hands would shoot up and answers would be given. Some of them I would not even understand, because international school students have like axa and back then I was really local. That sort of thing would confuse me. I would ask about photosysasy and they would answer about phoddosynthesis.

But one thing in the class was really perplexing me. Three guys in the back of the class.

“Woo izi dat one yin da back deya dat she is wearing gaggolz?” I asked. Man, I know how some of you when you me when I meet people with axa you find yourselves trying to catch up. With me it’s the opposite. That’s when the Buwambo Village Kyaddondo busts out for real. “Dat boy deya she is wealing gaggolz. Wat is da liason?”

Somehow the class understood that I was asking about the boys in the back who were wearing shades.

The whole class put up their hands. They answered: “It’s called ‘Swagg’, yo! Recognize!”

“Watyis da names of dat one?” I asked, pointing at the one who was grinning as if he had a lot of money.

“His name is Thomas,” sighed one chick who had spent the entire lesson staring at him, reapplying her mascara every two minutes.

“Chomash? Thomweth? The Mith?” Back then English names were a challenge to me. I was used to Nabiwatta and Sekumulango and Eggyi.

The Mith just got up and pulled a wad of notes out of his pocket and threw them at the class. Then he sat down, grinned and said, “They call me Confetti Tom.”

I hastily pocketed the notes I had managed to collect and turned my attention to the next one: a tall light-skinned dude with cornrows and about eight girls hanging off each arm. “You youngaman, allwov dos are you gallofleens? Now if you are of schoolugoingy edge, who is defilingy who?”

He replied, “I am this bad man from Rubaga.”

And I just thought. Ebyo nabyo bwebityo? Evyo navio bwevityo.

Suddenly one kid leapt up from his desk in the corner. He didn’t have to say anything. I could recognise instantly what was happening. It takes one nuggulist to know one and I could see that this student was burning with the darkest and most potent nuggu possible. He snarled out a rhythmic diss freestyle and leapt over the desks to where Mith and Navio were and prepared to … I don’t know what he meant to do but before he could even start, a punch of the sort we expected from Golola last weekend showed up out of the blue and connected with his fist and he flew all the way over the desks and landed back in his chair, the impact of landing forcing his Geography book open to page 12 The Formation of The Andes.

The fist recoiled back into the arm of the guy who threw it, and he tugged at his chin. At the time he was as school student so there was no beard.

“Yye gwe aani musajja ggwe? Nga olimukambwe!” I stuttered in awe.

“JB, aka J-Baller,” he said.

Now, I have lied to you about only three members of Klear Kut because they are the ones around. I have not told you mbu I went to another class and found Langman and Papito. Maybe next time. For now, don’t miss The Mith, Navio and JB who will be tearing it up at the Xplosion this weekend. Alongside Madtraxx, Nonini, P-Unit, Lillian, Jackie, Jackie’s awesome legs, Rabadaba, Rabadaba’s security detail, House of DJs, House of DJs big phat Monique-phat beats, and others such as female fans in tiny dresses. Garden City Drive Through Cinema. Even go to facebook and like the event page because I now know some hip hop lingo I can assure you, in the appropriate language, that it’s going to be disengaged from the hook!

You have seen the press releases. You have watched the video clips. The guys have written about it. But here’s the thing. The girl has not. I’m talking about the 411 Legendary Party. After the men have done all the hard work, I am here. To spice it up. Ice the cake. Final touches.

Aside you our majorly amazing fans, the Legends are going to be in the house. In the bar. Imagine that. 5 mentally disturbed and brilliant men in one bar.

And Streetsider gives the most-mind-altering-and-body-part-melting lap dances. And he’s going to be dishing those out in true generosity.

We aim to please. Really, we do.

The Beats:

Beekay will be in the house, Mr. Hype and DJ Bankrobber shall be hypin’, spinning’, rockin’…we’re bringing the house down, so rock your dancing shoes children. And noddy heads for the too-cool-to-grind-and-wind persons.

The Venue:

It’s Boda Boda, banange. It’s at Garden City. Ample parking space. Comfy seats. The waiters and waitresses have been warned, please. Excellent service or Maureen gets into the mix. And y’all know how I hate, right? No focused bar wants me pissed off. Especially not when I’m as-if a hostess at this do. Ahem.

Back to basics:

We allow that we are awesome and brilliant. We also allow that we be making you laugh or in my case, shake your head. We’re super. But first, we’re Ugandans. Patriotic Ugandans.

Therefore alcohol. Like you, we got tired of being only associated with Amin. So we joined in the making of a name for our beloved nation by topping the world’s most drunken drunkards’ countries list. All tribes of intoxicants and their friends shall be available.

Help preserve Uganda’s glory; come drink alcohol with us.

Maureen:

The plan was to be silent & make a dazzling appearance come Friday evening. But the editor said nada. Write about yowaselef please. Tell the fans they’re gon’ finally see the ka chic who hurls insults for fun.

Well, because I don’t know the time you are reading this article, I have been forced to generalize my greeting to, yo reader, whatsup?

As the self-imposed minister of awesomeness, and due to the fact that the five official ninjas are busy preparing for the Legendary Friday, I’ve been forced to give you, dear loyal readers of ULK, a preview of what to expect on the 4th of November, at the equally legendary Boda Boda bar.

Security:

Security has been beefed up following the concern of many citizens. You think Golola Moses is tough? Just see Miss Kyrte’s new look. Belle’s decided to prove her awesome meanness by cutting off her dreadlocks. After Gaddaffi’s female bodyguards did a great job, we can assure you that Miss Kyrte and her crew of equally hot b***hes will do a great job too. So safety is sealed.

Miss Kyrte looks like this

Chics:

Because we vibe hot chics for a living, here at ULK, you can be sure that they will be in plenty. Sleek, one of the five ninjas and the only one with a viable taste in the female species is currently traversing Latin America looking for the crème de la crème of beauty. You can follow Sleek’s conquests on Google Maps.

Look. Sleek's territory of domination

Who is who:

ULK is awesome, so much that it has a ministry of awesomeness. So what do you expect? Only the most awesome citizens. Because Ernest claims to be a responsible citizen, he’s currently vetting the guest list to see who has the best swag to live the legend. Make sure you handle him with care, or you may not be invited. We love you so much that we care about your music tastes, and as such, Rachel K will be present (as a guest, not a musician. She’s too cute for music).

Paparazzi:

We know you want to show off whatcha gat. Erique, the ruthless of the ninjas will take care of that. We know you are scared of Red pepper, Onion and Bukedde but don’t be afraid to show us what yo mamas gave you. Trust us, we know how to kick their asses, so come as hot as you can be. And because we love Agnesssssss Nandutttttu, and Erique has a secret crush, we’ll have her around.

Fun:

Here at ULK, we strive to make you happy. So expect lots of fun, jokes and so much more. We know it might break your hearts but Bad Black, Sharon O, and Judith heard may not be invited due to their failure to understand even the simplest of the mortal jokes, well unless they start differentiating a joke from a diss.

I am Beautiful Bad Black and I will be at the Legendary Party even if I wasn't invited.

Confirmed attendance:

Huey Freeman, Riley Freeman, Peter and Stewie Griffin, Capt. Jack Sparrow, Chandler, Fraiser and you have confirmed their attendance. Col. Stinkmeaner and Harry Potter had not yet replied to their invites. By press time, Streetslider, the only ninja with mega game was on his way to USA to try and convince Nicki Minaj that there’s a country called Uganda, and that she was needed ASAP. Unfortunately, Olara Otunnu turned down our invitation when we told him that there would be hot chics.

If you haven’t received the invitation, then on behalf of Urban Legend Kampala, I officially invite you for the legendary party, due 4th November at Boda Boda. See you there.

PS: By press time, Ivan, the fifth ninja was trying to sneak Bad Black out of prison.